


Two Fairytales for Two

by Titans_R_Us



Series: The Moral of Their Story Is? [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dark fluff, Domestic, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M, twisted but consensual relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 04:26:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titans_R_Us/pseuds/Titans_R_Us
Summary: “Perhaps you need a story to soothe you into sleep.” Ra’s mutters looking at the delicate dark circles under Timothy’s eyes.“You are so lame. The leader of the League of Assassins is lame.” Tim responds but flops over, resting his head on Ra’s lap when prompted.Oh, how Ra’s adores him.





	Two Fairytales for Two

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Collection of Body Parts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12149682) by Anonymous. 



> This story takes place in a universe where after a series of events, Tim and Ra's are in a semi-consensual, but twisted relationship. Now Tim keeps blowing up Ra's bases, but Ra's continues giving Tim reasons (both professional and oh-so-not-professional) to visit his keep over and over again. Could possibly take place somewhere in the "A Web is Made Thread by Thread" Ra'sTim series. Here are two soft, strangely domestic and creepy moments for the two. Enjoy :)
> 
> Update: I GOT FANART FROM THE WONDERFUL Chalala. They really did a fabulous job capturing the mood of the story so I'm honored to embed their art into my story.

**Nightingale**

“Perhaps you need a story to soothe you into sleep.” Ra’s mutters looking at the delicate dark circles under Timothy’s eyes.

“You are so lame. _The leader of the League of Assassins is lame.”_ Tim responds but flops over, resting his head on Ra’s lap when prompted.

Oh, how Ra’s adores him.

“How fortunate for you, I have collected many tales over the years. Have you heard of ‘The Emperor and the Nightingale?”

Tim snorts, “The one about a pompous rich old man with a bird complex? Of course you’d pick that one. Why am I not surprised?“

“You must mean an honorable, _powerful_ man Beloved,” which earns him another snort. ‘“Who found solace in something so small and fragile—.”

“Don’t make me punch you in the throat.”

Ra’s continues despite the interruption, “—yet a creature so extraordinary for it gave the emperor something he had never had before, something he lacked, regardless of his armies and wealth... _peace_.”

“...Just tell the damn story, Ra’s.”

The demon head smiles at the blush that Timothy cannot hide on the tips of his ears. He brushes the hair out of Beloved’s eyes and obeys.

_“Once upon a time, so very long ago, there was an emperor who had wealth untold...“_

During the story, Ra’s watches the detective below. His hands unable to help themselves, so tender on that pale skin despite the work they do. “... _He had palaces of gold, prized artwork from every land, and a garden whose beauty was beyond price. Yet when asked what treasure in his vast kingdom was the greatest...from the richest dignitary to the simplest peasant would reply, ‘Why the song of your glorious nightingale, your Majesty!’  So the bewildered emperor send out his finest men to capture the bird as soon as possible.”_

“Bet she didn’t like that.”

_“No...she did not. Though her song gave joy to the court even to the point of bringing tears to the emperor’s eyes, she couldn’t fly with his favor, a golden slipper, around her neck or with the pretty ribbons constantly binding her foot when they allowed her outside.”_

“Surprise, surprise.”

“Hush, my love. _Then one day the emperor was tricked,”_ Ra’s voice turns into a whispered hiss, his face suddenly twisting in displeasure _, “A rival sent a distraction, a songbird made of precious stone and metal and while the court was enthralled by its mechanical tune...”_

Ra’s fingers kept gravitating towards that pale throat, tracing the Adam’ apple in slow, lazy motions. When the demonhead cups his lover’s chin, a stretch that leaves the neck even more vulnerable, Timothy glares at him, but allows it. _He allows it._

_“...the nightingale escaped.”_

“Ha, ha serves him right.” But the last word stretched into a yawn. Ra’s secures the boy more comfortably in his arms.

_“So the emperor made due with bird of jewels. The man feinted displeasure and declared the nightingale exiled from his domain. He was placated with his people’s praise of the robotic replacement, even as slowly its gears rusted being played less and less until at last...it fell silent. Dismayed, the ruler fell ill and Death visited him by his bedside.”_

The story dissolves to Ra’s crouching over his lover, his words mumbled against chapped lips just to soften those eyes...make them flutter, make them heavy.

Beloved’s grip on his leg squeezes and Ra’s continues.

_“The powerful man called out for help, but nobody came. So cruel Death tortured him. Over and over revealing the ruler’s deeds, both kind and vile. Just as Death reached out his bony arm to claim, to take, a song filled the air. Soft like a bell, the notes flowed like hope from the windowsill, the nightingale plain and brown had returned. Charmed, Death gave her his sword, his crown, and his leave. Still in his absence, she sang until the pallor left the emperor’s face, and his heart beat healthy and true. When she turned to fly, to return to her nest, the emperor bade her to stay. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘I will give you anything you ask as a reward.’ In return, she replied, ‘I’ll fly where I fly and sing where I please...”_

“I like this...bird.” Timothy’s eyes stay closed and Ra’s feels a rush of satisfaction at the slow speech.

“I knew you would, Beloved. _But she also said this, ‘But I remember your moved tears, they are a treasure I cannot forget so if you swear not to bind, not to boast or parade me about...I will come sing to you whenever you wish.’ The emperor demanded, ‘Every night?’_

“Greedy.” His lover mumbled.

“Love does have that effect. Makes us selfish for another minute, another second by the side of those that possess our hearts. _Yet the little bird agreed, saying not a word more, just filling the night with sweet music as dark became dawn. Lo from then on, the nightingale returned to sing news of their land to the emperor and in the morn he was stronger and more wise.”_

Ra’s collapses to his side, carefully dragging the slight figure up until their bodies can mold together like halves of a whole. He chases the gentle exhale leaving that mouth as weariness overtakes the man. That Timothy can reduce him into this gentle imbecile is dangerous. He wonders if the boy will ever realize the magnitude of the power he has over the assassin.

Just as the nightingale had over the emperor.

How the most powerful man in the country begged. How the nightingale came back over and over again.

Ra’s deepens the kiss at the end. Slants his face in order to have a better angle to taste and be addicted to the way Beloved sleepily wraps his arms around his shoulders. When they part, Ra’s bruises his mouth at the words, _“And they lived happily ever after for the remainder of their days,”_ longing to make those lips red and puffed.

“You...are such a sap.”

It is so much more than that and Ra’s prays Timothy never finds out.

A hopeless wish, but then again...that’s what fairytales are for.

 

* * *

**Bluebeard**

Tim knows exactly what he’s gotten into. There is no wool over his eyes, he’s considered to be a world-class _detective_ here. He’s gone through all the files, and has left no computer system, book, or rock unturned. He knows exactly who he’s dating.

_“Despite his age, the nobleman was so charming. Polite, well-educated and he could make her laugh. Besides his vast fortune from his successful trading ships could make her forget the unusual state of his beard.”_

He’s dating freaking **Bluebeard**.

Gosh, the parallels are ridiculous. Ra’s nature and the tight, pale faces that bow to Tim as he passes the servants down the halls. His footsteps are loud, but not enough for the muted whispers reaching his ears about how young, how clever, how attractive the demon head’s new lover is and how... Tim is not the first.

Tim might not be the last either.

_So when the man asked for her hand in marriage, despite the many times he’s been mysteriously...widowed, her father agreed immediately. Oh, but of course, how could he resist turning his daughter into the wife of a lord? To be taken care of for the rest of her days? Within a fortnight they were married and quickly the woman was spirited away to be surrounded by splendor and enormous wealth._

Even Talia gives her wary appraisal. Before he enters the dining hall, the woman intercepts him  outside the door to quip, “Drake, know that I wish to crush your presence, so then my son would surely be secured to Beloved’s side. Yet that task of your end does not lie with me. I suppose I should be pleased that my father could find someone with all the favorable characteristics of his...other companions of the past.”

Tim just rolls his eyes and makes a note to forgive Damian a bit for his pompous attitude. (Not that he’ll ever do it to his face, maybe a convenient sharp gift for the kid to find or something.) Obviously the current Robin must have gotten it from somewhere.

“Still,” Talia pauses, looking to the side, “I advise you to be...wary, boy. May one eye remain open in sleep. My father is not to be trifled with.”

Tim barely manages not to snort. He doesn’t say that it’s definitely too late for that, after all Tim has a head count for Ra’s bases and if he doesn’t reach his goal of fifty this year he’s going to be _disappointed_. Instead he snarks, “I’d say thanks for the warning, but that’s as if I slept at all in the first place. Goodnight Talia, may you get all that pesky blood off of your boots one day. Stained leather is a pain to clean, or so I hear.”  

Talia doesn’t give him the same courtesy. Her sound of disgust rings in the air, “Don’t worry, I shall not tell Beloved when it’s yours.”

_For a time, the new wife was delighted her new life, except for one curious thing. Her lord, Bluebeard, left the country often and each time would press a set of bone white master keys in her hand. ‘You may explore as you will, my love and every room of treasure is yours...but there is one door you must never open. Not if you wish my anger. You are of light and sunshine so the castle above is yours, but any chamber beneath is mine. Promise not to stray.” She did. For several business trips, she did obey._

He pulls the door open as Talia twists away from him. The ornate door is gaudy as hell and tricky with one arm, since the other holds an expensive bottle of wine, but he manages. It’s thick with gold and usually it takes two servants to open it gracefully, but Tim is a determined sucker and can open his own doors, thanks. Especially when Ra’s _insists_ in being a gentleman.

“ _Beloved_. I am honored that you finally grace me with your presence.”

“You’re the one that invited me to dinner, Ra’s.”

The man doesn’t even let him take two steps into the room before pulling the vigilante into his arms.

“True, yet I am always pleasantly surprised when you accept and act on one of my invitations.” Ra’s beckons to the table, reluctantly releasing the embrace to wave a hand to the heaps of beautifully arranged food. Food that Tim will only eat 1% of, no matter how determined Ra’s is. “Come, our dinner awaits.”

_Yet day by day, her curiosity ate at her like a rat at the larder. One trip she could not stand it anymore. The wife strayed downstairs, threw open the only door underground...and screamed. There. On metal hooks, rotten corpses hung all around dressed in finery and silk. Exactly like her. In her alarm, she dropped the keys on a floor that was slick and red. Hurriedly, she picked them up, locked the door and ran to wash the evidence of her broken promise. But the keys retained their strain...and her husband was to return on the morrow._

“So how do you like the wine I brought?” Tim asks. His lips have started to tingle, but when they smirk, they almost look smeared with blood. He didn’t drink, _but Ra’s did._

In fact, the man just licks the corner of his mouth, collecting the remnants of taste. “Delicious, Beloved.” He places one hand into his lap under the table. It has begun to shake, how unpleasantly annoying. Yet how _novel_ , he believes he’s never encountered this drug before. It’s strange. In his experience and age the occurrence is unique, then again...every element about Timothy fits into that category. How many times will he continue to underestimate him? His legs have already gone dead, but the assassin picks up the glass and drains the rest of it. Then he lets the goblet clink on the table, “And what of you, my love? Is the meal to your liking?”

“Well...I could do without the sedative, but as always I have to cave in and give my compliments to the chef.”

Ra’s pouts, “You have been sleeping _poorly,_ Timothy. Even in my bed you are restless, I thought you would appreciate the mild aid.”

Tim laughs and gets up from his chair. His form wobbles slightly, but is determined to cross the floor to the man before it’s lights out.

“Didn’t I tell you that if I want help, I’d tell you? At least _this_ time you’ll be out of commission too, I guess that’s a silver lining.”

_Tim forgets which ending of the morbid french story was the real one. For sure he knows when Bluebeard returns, he reveals himself the villain. The man demands she shows him the keys and his wrath boils while trembling she hands them over. At the discovery of her disobedience, like all the women before her, he chases the poor woman all over the castle with a sword. In some tales, she trips on her dress and becomes another piece of meat on a hook. Or Bluebeard is discovered to be a cannibal and eats the body of his once bride. In other versions, she’s able to stall for time by begging to say last prayer and her brothers come just in as the blade swings down to save her. Then she and her family live the classic Disney ending of riches and dreams come true. It doesn’t matter, the point of the story is a simple question; is ignorance truly bliss?_

“So vicious,” Ra’s coos, but there is a definite slur in his voice, “Why I take care of you _so well_ when you’re unconscious. Though may I ask the component in the paralytic? I cannot identify it.”

“You wouldn’t. I just made it yesterday.” Tim shoves at Ra’s chair, and it scrapes against the polished floor as a foot or two of space opens between the table and them. Then he practically falls into a lap and his lover curls his body to support him. Ra’s shifts his neck out of the way at Tim’s nudging so he has somewhere to rest his head. Ra’s _longs_ to wrap his arms around him, needs to, but one limb hangs uselessly at his side, while the other Timothy wraps around his stomach. The smaller man huffs and so what if his vision is going spotty? He’s gonna be comfortable, dang it.

“Vindictive.”

“More like spite, Ra’s.” Or true love. Making a brand new poison for this like isn’t easy you know. “Stop drugging my food.”

“How can I help myself? You are truly gorgeous when you are reduced to a creature so pliant and relaxed.”

“Knock it off, or I’ll have to take drastic measures.”

“Oh? Pray tell what could those be?” While he has the use of his fingers, Ra’s strokes the outside of a hip before it grows too late.

“If you keep this up—” Tim leans to breathe in an ear, the warm air caressing Ra’s skin, while a surge of heat takes him. Ah. Ra’s supposes this is his true punishment. To be unable move as he wishes for hours while his detective rests so tempting before him…  
”—eventually there’s going to be a new body ruining the carpet.”

The words grow soft and quiet. _“And Ra’s...that body isn’t going to be me.”_

Ra’s involuntarily jerks at the sharp bite on his neck. What was heat turns into _fire_. His hands twitch, clenched into fists as he is reduced to a doll as beloved’s body goes lax on top of him.

“Very well, Detective, very well.”

And the last thought in Tim’s head as the black spots overtake take his vision is how different would the end of Blackbeard be...

If his new wife played the game instead of falling into the trap?

In any case, Tim knows the end of _his_ story. That’s why he ducks his head, lets go in sleep...and smiles.

 

 


End file.
